


Take Me to Saint Denis

by Apple_Bottom_Beans, DanielVanDerLinde



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Drama, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Bathing/Washing, Cigarettes, Cigars, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Horseback Riding, Hurt, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love, Love Triangles, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27447979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apple_Bottom_Beans/pseuds/Apple_Bottom_Beans, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanielVanDerLinde/pseuds/DanielVanDerLinde
Summary: After evading the Pinkerton Detective Agency and fleeing the mud pit known as Valentine, Dutch van der Linde's relationship with Molly O'Shea becomes more strained evermore. Dutch hopes to mend things by planning a very much needed romantic getaway to Saint Denis. Instead, he invites Susan Grimshaw along for the ride. Will their mutual respects for each other keep them romantically apart? Or, will those old feelings arise and make for an interesting time?
Relationships: Molly O'Shea/Dutch van der Linde, Susan Grimshaw/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 18
Kudos: 17





	1. The Night is Darkest

Clemens Point, Scarlett Meadows, State of Lemoyne, 1899...

* * *

After successfully evading the Pinkerton's another day and fleeing Valentine, the camp took a moment to breathe.

It was mid afternoon when Dutch van der Linde took advantage of the lull in excitement; he laid on his cot, eyes closed, and hands folded on his chest.

It was a rare moment, a rare sight. For once since 1899 had started, he was utterly still.

However, it didn't last long.

"You don't fool me, Dutch," Molly started as she stormed into his tent.

"Is that so, miss?" Dutch hadn't a clue what she was on about this time.

"Yes, that's so. You don't fool me one little bit. You're a no-good degenerate liar. A liar! You're exactly what you say you're not, you hear?" Her heels clicked irritably on the wooden pallet.

"Whatever you say, miss," he dismissed, hoping she would just leave as he hadn't the mind nor the energy.

"Oh, I've got a lot more to say to you!" She raised her voice to him then.

"Perhaps some other time?" Despite being irate, but not wanting to escalate the situation, Dutch kept his tone even.

"I hope you drop dead!"

As angry footsteps left his pallet, Miss O'Shea's final words of resentment smoldered in his brain. Dutch huffed and sighed, closing his eyes. He hated when she was like this, but he didn't know what to do anymore. She was absolutely unappeasable.

Later that evening when he couldn't sleep, Dutch paced out to Flat Iron lake and strolled leisurely along the shore. Molly's outburst had rattled him. He supposed that was her intent.

After Dutch had gotten up from his rest, he had tried to find Molly to no avail. He sighed at his thoughts, shook his head, and pulled a cigar from his pocket. Once lit, he took a generous drag. Besides the two campfires in the distance and the waning moon, the cherry end of his cigar was the only other provided light.

Exhaling slowly, Dutch rested a hand on his hip and gazed out across the dark and murky water as it lapped lazily at the shore. Thoughtfully, he observed the moon's reflection, the ripples from jumping fish, and the silhouettes of the swampy trees in the distance.

As he stood there, the buzz of insects filled his ears. The night was hot and humid. Sweat beaded at his brow. He was thankful for the gentle breeze that kissed his exposed chest and forearms, cooling his skin.

* * *

Susan was not a woman with time to spare.

Except when it came to Dutch Van der Linde.

Despite being swamped with not only her own chores but those that Miss Jones had neglected, she heard every word of that lazy Mise O'Shea's verbal attack.

She pitied the woman.

Such a fool.

Molly's head was so far up her own ass that she couldn't see all that Dutch does for them.

She'll catch him alone later, she's sure of it.

* * *

And she was right.

There he stood, by the shore, figure illuminated only by the moonlight.

Susan made her way over and stood silently beside him, lighting her own cigarette.

* * *

As Dutch continued to stare across the lake, familiar footfalls sounded from behind him and ceased next to him.

Since Dutch known her for some 20 odd years, he didn't need to look to know it was Susan. A match caught, following by the familiar smell of even more burning tobacco.

* * *

There was no doubt in his mind that the whole goddamn camp had heard Miss O'Shea's earlier outburst. He was beyond pissed that she often did her damndest to make him look like a fool. Hell, he probably did...considering he couldn't control his woman.

Before he broke the silence, Dutch puffed on his cigar for a moment.

"It's hotter than Hell here, but the lake--the lake is beautiful at this time of night," Dutch commented as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Don't you think, Miss Grimshaw?"

Dutch stared after the smoke as it dissipated and drifted out over the water, eerily so.

"I agree. But I think it looks best in the early morning," she replied.

Her eyes stayed on the moon's reflection across the water. It truly was a beautiful sight. But--

"Nothing compares to the orange and purple of early dawn, painted across the water," she added.

She puffed on her cigarette a moment before continuing, "Y'know, night is darkest just before dawn? Or at least, so I've read in one of Miss Gaskill's silly romance novels," she tapped her cigarette and watched the ash fall, "The couple had been comparing the darkness to their problems, and the light to their love." Susan glanced over, checking if he understood her point.

Dutch listened to Susan's rationale about the water and then the bit about Mary-Beth's book. His mind lingered on Mary-Beth for a moment, but he buried the thought as quickly as it had came.

"How much night must one man endure before the sun breaks the horizon?" He asked her sincerely, still not looking her way as he was deep in thought with his troubles.

"If he loves the woman? As much as he can." Her gaze turned back to the water as she continued to smoke.

Before discarding his cigar, Dutch huffed at her comment and took another drag. He exhaled slowly, savoring the last bit of smoke in his lungs and on his tongue.

"Perhaps, I could get her out of here for--" Dutch cut himself off and crossed his arms over his chest. "Now, ain't the time for such selfish things; not the moment for such distractions. We ain't got that kind of time."

"As it stands," he continued. " I've got you all--the gang to think about...and our next move..." Dutch creased his brow.

"I think it would be a good idea to get her out of camp. Miss High--“ She had to cut herself off. He wouldn’t appreciate her insults. “Miss O’Shea would love to go away, I think. She likes to be your priority, and that ain’t gonna happen as long as you’re in camp.”

"I ain't sure if that will change things," Dutch admitted as he finally turned to look at Susan, who was much closer than he expected.

As Dutch eyed her in the dim light, he wiped at his brow, smoothing his hair back as best as he could. The heat was incessant. He felt the sweat dripping down his neck and chest.

"She's been staying with the girls for three weeks now," Dutch confessed, figuring Susan already knew. There wasn't much about him that she didn't.

"Only attention I get is yelling during the day...I've tried reason, Susan, but she--she doesn't understand the stress and pressure I'm under. I--I...I've never understood young women anyway."

Distraught, Dutch continued to stare at Susan as she smoked. He watched the way she brought the cigarette to her lips and the way she expelled the smoke from her nose and mouth; sometimes in a cloud...other times in little wisps.

Susan moved to cross one arm over her chest, resting the elbow of her other on top as she pulled the cigarette from her lips.

Slowly exhaling a stream of smoke, she replied, “Forgive my aggression, but she’s a complete fool. You’re under a lot of pressure, as you said, and she’s forgettin’ what you’ve done for us. Now, I think you remind her by takin’ her somewhere nice--out of camp-- for a few days. She’ll love the attention.”

Dutch held his hands up when Susan called Molly a fool. He was inclined to agree.

"I suppose I will try that then," Dutch replied with a smirk. "The worst could be that it doesn't work," he paused for a moment and rubbed his chin, "it would appear that she ain't the only fool among us." He gestured to himself and bowed his head a bit.

"Regardless, thank you, Susan," Dutch said earnestly as he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a little squeeze.

"Goodnight."

She nodded, acknowledging his gratitude.

“Goodnight, Dutch,” Susan tapped the end of her cigarette. “Oh, and,” She turned her head towards him as she spoke, “You ain’t a fool.”

As he walked away, Dutch's reply was a grin. More often than not, she was the best at making him feel better.


	2. Some People's Children

After a few days of planning, sending Arthur into Saint Denis to coordinate, and further headaches (brought on by Miss O'Shea), Dutch was in his tent gathering the necessary items needed for the trip.

Just as Dutch secured his knapsack, Molly O'Shea stormed into his tent, waving a finger in his face.

"I seen you looking at her Dutch! I seen you!" Molly accused.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Dutch grumbled as he set his pack aside. "But I'm sure you'll enlighten me."

"I seen you looking at her, again! They're all laughing at me, you know! Am I too old for you? Is that what it is?" She poked his chest.

"You're delusional, again," Dutch defended as he put a bit of space between them. He wanted to calm her but she gave him no choice.

"And another thing!" Molly closed the distance he created and stared him down. "Where were you at three in the morning the other night?"

"You'd have to be a little more specific, dear. I--" Dutch cut himself off and he frowned at her as he knew what she meant. "Not that I have to explain myself to you, but I was smoking, by the lake--you can ask Susan--"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he fucked up.

"Oh, it's Susan now, is it? I thought you didn't like older women!" Molly shoved him hard enough that he stumbled out of his tent. "That's why you don't look at me anymore!"

Dutch gritted his teeth and balled his fists at his sides. His temper flared.

"It's best if you go, miss," he growled at her. " _Now_."

"You're a bastard, Dutch van der Linde!" Molly hollered as she stalked off. "A goddamn bastard!"

* * *

For the first time in months, Susan had the time to sit down and enjoy a book. This particular book was one of Mary-Beth's new romance novels. But if you'd ask her, she'd say it was anything but.

Her reading came to an end when Miss O'Shea decided to start yet another argument. Only this time, Susan's own name was mentioned and she couldn't help but listen.

_Susan now, is it? I thought you didn't like older women!_

Susan scoffed. She knew she looked terrible for her age, but she's only a few months younger than Dutch.

She watched Molly storm away from the tent, leaving Dutch in disarray. How could one head contain such stupidity? Even Uncle held less foolishness on his shoulders.

The 'older' woman contemplated going to him, comforting him, but that would only fuel Miss O'Shea's ridiculous accusations.

* * *

As Miss O'Shea walked away, Dutch glared after her for a few moments. He contemplated chasing after her and asking her to go with him still, but after that fight...the disrespect and the way she poked and shoved him...

With a curse, Dutch smoothed his vest and shirt. When he looked up, he made awkward eye contact with Bill, Arthur, and Uncle.

"Get back to work, all of you!" Dutch yelled at them. "The box ain't gonna fill itself!"

With that, Dutch went back into his tent and snatched his pack off of his cot as he considered what to do now. The trouble was that Arthur's reservations and tickets had already been paid for.

Dutch slung the pack over his shoulder and stepped out the other side of his tent.

He could always go alone, but his gaze wandered to the women working about. His eyes lingered on Mary-Beth for a moment as she stitched at something, but he shook his head. He wouldn't ask the young women...that wouldn't be proper.

Then, Dutch caught sight of Susan, seated, and reading a book. He couldn't remember the last time she had been outside of camp. He smirked at that thought.

"Miss Grimshaw," Dutch greeted with a grin as he approached. His bag was still slung over his shoulder.

"Mr. Van der Linde." Susan looked up at him over the top of her book.

_What would he say?_

He never approached, at least not in the day or when others were about.

She quirked a brow at his smirk. "You look awfully suspicious."

"Oh, I'm sure I do." Dutch huffed. "Would you care to accompany me on a trip to Saint Denis? Think of it as a vacation of sorts." Dutch paused and gauged her for her reaction.

Susan's laughter was immediate and loud, but when he didn't join her, she paused. "You're serious?"

"Serious as a bullet to the head," Dutch replied without missing a beat. As he spoke, Dutch glanced around at the nearby gang members and then back at her with a frown.

"You know," Dutch started. "I shouldn't have asked, miss. That was improper of me."

"No--" She set the book down, struggling in her hurry to get to her feet. "No." She stood and smoothed over her skirt in an effort to compose herself. "I'll go. I jus'--what about my chores?"

Surely, this must be some elaborate joke. No one asks her out of camp. Not since she was young and pretty. And Dutch? He was the last person she expected to ask.

"The girls can pick up the slack!" Dutch turned and addressed them. "Ain't that right, ladies? You can give Miss Grimshaw a break for a measly three days, can't you? After all, she will be accompanying me for business. Should you have any problems amongst yourselves or otherwise, speak to Hosea or Mister Morgan." Dutch gave a pointed look to Karen when she opened her mouth to protest.

"Miss Jones, Miss Tilly, Miss Gaskill, I expect this camp to be running as efficiently as it is now upon our return! I have faith in you!"

At the conclusion of his little speech, Dutch turned back to Susan and lowered his head in a bowing gesture.

"You was saying, miss?"

"Well--I--" She'd watched as he gave the speech, somewhat amused, but when he turned back to her, she had no idea how to respond. There was no turning back now.

"I ain't fancy enough for Saint Denis, Mr. Van der Linde. I've got but one city worthy dress, and I ain't too sure it fits anymore."

Her excuses were futile and she knew it. Part of her was glad she was going.

"I'm sure I ain't fancy enough either," Dutch said with reassurance, but lowered his voice. He didn't mean to embarrass her. "Now, I ain't all too worried about attire as I planned on visiting the tailor anyway." He shrugged and readjusted his grip on the bag over his shoulder.

"Pack whatever you need for a three day--two night stay and meet me at the horses. I'll get that boy Kieran to tack one of the spares up for you...and...I'm gonna inform Hosea."

"Sounds... sounds good. I'll meet you there." She offered a smile.

The moment he walked away, her face became one of panic.

_What to bring? What to say? What to wear?_

She reminded herself that they were friends, so none of that mattered. It would be completely casual.

Her packing took no more than a few minutes. All she needed was another dress, bloomers, a night gown, and her brush. And of course, her few dollars --she didn't want to be a burden.

Susan held the bag in one arm as she walked to the horses, nervously glancing around to see if anyone was staring.

In passing, Dutch had quickly informed Hosea of their plans and continued on to the horses, stowing his bag on The Count. He adjusted his hat and leaned against a hitching post as he waited. He didn't wait long.

When Susan came into view, he gave her a little wave, and held out a hand to take her bag. Then, he ushered her over to the horse she'd utilize.

As chivalrous as ever, Dutch secured the bag to the horse. Then, he turned and went to place his hands on her waist to help her, but stopped just short of touching her.

"Care for my assistance, miss?" He asked her.

“Help would be greatly appreciated,” She responded, placing her hands on his forearms so that she might brace herself.

"As you wish," Dutch replied. He placed his hands on her waist and easily lifted her onto the horse, seating her side saddle.

Next, Dutch thanked the O'Driscoll kid, mounted The Count, and gestured for Susan to follow him out of the camp.

Once they made it to the main road, Dutch slowed his white Arabian so he could ride next to Susan.

Dutch was still a bit agitated about his strife with Molly, but as they road further and further away from camp, it began to drift ever further and further from his mind.

"Nice day, ain't it?" Dutch prompted her with small talk.

“It’s a lovely day. Ain’t too hot, and ain’t too cold,” She replied, looking over at him as she spoke. “Bugs were at a minimal--thank the Lord.”

"Thank Him indeed!" Dutch replied with a chuckle. "I'm sure you're curious about what business we'll be getting up to in Saint Denis." He paused to see if he piqued her interest.

She eagerly responded. "Incredibly curious. What business could I possibly help with?” It simply didn’t make sense.

"Actually, no business at all, Susan--rather the business of pleasure and nothing serious besides. Meaning, we are simply gonna relax, enjoy the city--if one can even do that--and above all have fun," Dutch replied smoothly as if any of the words he uttered didn't faze him.

“Business of pleasure and nothin’. Got it.”

_What the hell does that even mean?_

Her idea of pleasure is a quiet cigarette.

"So we just...stay in the city a few days? And do what?”

Dutch couldn't help but smirk at her words and tone of voice.

"Well, you see, I've got tickets to the newest show at the theater," Dutch told her as he tapped his breast pocket where they were stowed. "We'll do some window shopping. Indulge in a hot bath and food other than camp stew! I've got a reservation at the finest hotel with the fanciest saloon across the street..."

“A hot bath? If you would’ve mentioned that sooner I would have come without another question!”

"We'll get two!" Dutch replied to her with equal enthusiasm. "One each night, if you wish!"

“Oh, hush. I’m sold and you know it. Just the idea of a hot bath...” She sighed dramatically at the thought of sinking in until the water is up to her shoulders.

Again, Dutch chuckled at her reaction. His ribs were starting to hurt. He wasn't use to this.

"So, my dear, how would you fancy a new dress?" Dutch asked her. "Don't have to be city-like--can be whatever you like--whatever you want. I'm gonna get a new shirt, vest perhaps, and a set of trousers..."

“I suppose a new dress would be nice. I’ve sewed up the ones I have too many times to count.” She chuckled. “Somethin’ simple would do. A city-like dress would never see the light of day again.”

"All right...then it will be so."

Growing a bit stiff from his poor posture in the saddle, Dutch wiggled his shoulders and hips a bit and stretched his neck.

The Count huffed as Dutch fidgeted on his back. The dark-haired man patted the stallion's neck soothingly and whispered words of encouragement. He knew the beast preferred a gallop over a canter. After all, the poor thing had been restless ever since they set up camp.

"You're all right," Dutch told the horse as he rubbed between its ears, earning him a snort. "I know you wanna run, but we got a lady with us." He glanced over at Susan.

"I say give him what he wants," she commented, swinging one leg over and hooking her feet in the stirrups. It had been years since she’d ridden. Nevertheless, she was confident in her riding

“I can keep up fairly well. I mean, this horse ain’t like Prynne, but it’ll do.” Susan pat the back of the horse beneath her as she spoke.

Susan's response didn't surprise Dutch. She'd always been willing--

"You here that, boy?" Dutch addressed his mount. Then, he looked over at Susan.

"Gonna push him hard till he tires," Dutch told her. "Should you lose sight of me, just stay straight on the road...we'll turn back."

Susan nodded at his instruction.

With that, Dutch snapped the reigns and touched his spurs to the The Count's sides, sending the energetic horse forward in a rapid gait.

She followed close behind as he took off but the gap slowly grew as time went on. Her competitiveness wouldn't allow that.

Whispering encouragement to the horse seemed to work because the distance between them began to shrink.

Upon hearing an approaching gallop, Dutch turned his head and smirked at the sight of Susan gaining on him.

"How're you doing back there, Miss Grimshaw?" Dutch hollered as he eased The Count's pace. "That mare ain't too much for you, is she?" Dutch teased.

"I think I'm too much for her," she quipped, laughing. Petting the horse's neck seemed to keep her spirits high, and so did the occasional encouraging mutter.

Before bumping his Arabian's ribs once more, Dutch chuckled with her and then took off, again.

After several moments, The Count began to huff and puff in irritation and fatigue. Dutch reigned him into a moderate canter.

"Got what you wanted, old boy," Dutch told him. "At least one of us has."

He shook his head as he thought about Molly. She weren't here; best not to think of her and sour the mood.

_At least one of us has._

Determined to make him forget his worries, she moved right alongside him. "Y'know, I think with a good horse, I could give you a run for your money."

"Is that arrogance or confidence that I'm hearing?" Dutch teased, again. "If I was a betting man, and I am, I'd take you up on that. But, I'd win."

"Perhaps a bit of both. But I ain't competin'. Stubborn as this mare is, she ain't too fast."

"I know...I know," Dutch replied as he eyed the other horse. She wasn't anything special; just a Tennessee Walker.

"I'm sure if you asked him nicely enough, you could borrow Mister Morgan's Turkoman," Dutch suggested.

"If I were to race, it would be on my horse. And I ain't gettin' a horse because it would never leave camp, and that's a cruel thing to put a horse through," Susan stated firmly, nodding her head to enforce her statement.

Dutch frowned and stroked The Count's neck with a gentleness. He felt bad, but the goddamn horse was loyal only to him; he had thrown Arthur and even charged Hosea in the past.

"I'm a cruel man, ain't I?" He asked the horse. "Don't give you the attention you deserve..."

Susan watched the interaction, the cogs in her mind turning.

"I usually like to read, should I have a moment of spare time. But...Why don't we go on rides? I'll get out of camp for awhile, and The Count will get the attention he deserves. I just gotta save for a horse." Her gaze stayed on The Count as she suggested the idea.

With a solution to her horseless situation already brewing in his brain, Dutch's eyes lit up at the thought.

"That would be nice a nice change of pace," Dutch replied. "How about you accompany me up north a ways one of these days. Arthur's been watching a herd of prime mustangs and paints. You could take your pick. I'll _personally_ break it for you."

"Oh, I don't know... Sounds like.. sounds like too much work just to get me a horse."

She hated people taking time out of their day for her. Especially, such a busy man such as Dutch.

"Well, Susan, you gotta realize that some things are worth the work." Dutch replied, without skipping a beat. "Figure it might do me some good, too." He shrugged. "Getting away from camp, that is."

"You do deserve a break," she said, looking at the road ahead. "After all that's happened in the past few months, I think this vacation is far overdue."

"You got that right," Dutch agreed as his mind wandered to Blackwater, Colter, and Valentine. This year had been the gang's worst one yet. Dutch licked his wounds fairly quickly and gave her a smile.

" _We_ deserve a break," Dutch corrected her. "This will be fun."

"I suppose so. Though, my idea of fun is a simple book," she chuckled. "What 'fun' will we get up to first? Once we get to the city, I mean."

"To answer your question...we'll visit the tailor first," Dutch explained. "Then, we'll check-in at the Grand Hotel--get a bath and dinner there..." Dutch rubbed his cheek as he pondered what else had been on his agenda. "Figure we could end the night with a picture show."

"A picture show?" Her interest was piqued. "I've never seen one!" Susan looked over at him, the excitement evident in her eyes and in her smile.

"I've seen one once," Dutch offered as a smile grew on his face. "Well, part of one anyway...for a moment. You see we was robbing--"

Suddenly and from a nearly hidden driveway, a large wagon lead by a team of four horses pulled out in front of them.

Despite there not being much room, Dutch calmly leaned over, grabbed the mare's saddle horn, and maneuvered The Count easily around the obstacle.

Susan's face heated up as his hand grabbed the saddle horn, so close to--

Once they were back on track, Dutch huffed and took both of the Counts reigns in his hands, again. "Some people's children..." His tone was dripping with great annoyance.

"Damn fools.."

The blush in her face was well hidden under the natural redness of her cheeks. "Must mean we're close, at least."

"We are," Dutch confirmed as he rolled his shoulders, working some of the tension out of his body.

"This, here, is the last stretch before the city," Dutch informed her. "Once we get there, stick close behind me. Some of the streets are narrow and our chances of encountering _more_ fools will drastically increase."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticisms are welcomed here! Thanks for reading.


	3. The Anniversary of Mr. & Mrs. Kilgore

As they entered the city of Saint Denis, the capital of the State of Lemoyne, Dutch gestured for Susan to drop back behind him. He slowed The Count to a near trot and continued to navigate through the crowded and heavily industrialized city with its large factories and towering chimneys.

Unlike most towns they'd seen, the streets were paved in brick. Because of the factories, some areas of the city they navigated through were gloomy and covered in a mantle of fog that blocked the sky from view. Unlike the area he planned to take her, which was green, lively, and well lit.

The smell of modernization invaded his nostrils; production fumes, filth, and smoke.

Dutch wrinkled his face in disgust. He really despised cities and everything they stood for. But most of all, he valued freedom and the right to live as he--they choose, which in his mind meant the opposite of this--how they lived now and what he strove for; the dream of an independent existence with all of _his_ and their liberties intact.

But, here he was, Dutch van der Linde, outlaw, killer, and seeker on a vacation that was meant for Molly and he in a polluted city with Susan Grimshaw--

Dutch glanced over his shoulder at her. "Not far now," he called to her.

Everything in the city seemed so...dreary. How could people stand to live here? Oh, and the--Susan sniffed, scrunching her nose--the stench! It reminded her exactly what they were fighting against; the loss of liberty and freedom of civilization. Her gaze shifted from the buildings around them to Dutch.

"I don't understand what Miss O'Shea sees in places like these. The city is drab and ugly. Not... wonderful an-an' pretty, like she says it is."

"As _they_ say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Dutch offered nonchalantly.

"Then, I'm not sure she has eyes," she scoffed.

"Eyes for herself," Dutch grumbled as he thought about all the time Molly wasted staring at herself.

_What a fool._

Some moments later, Dutch halted The Count. Then, he led both horses to and secured them to the same hitching pole. Next, Dutch moved next to the mare and looked up at Susan.

"Miss," Dutch prompted as he held his hands up to assist.

"Beauty fades. She's trying to hold onto it while she has it." As she spoke, Susan grabbed onto his upper arms and braced herself.

Dutch knew Susan was right. Molly was young, vain, and foolish. 

As he continued to look up at her, the raven-haired man grasped Susan's waist firmly and then set her down, but let his hands linger as he spoke.

"As _they_ also say, vanity blossoms but bares no fruit," Dutch offered in concurrence with what Susan had said. He released her waist and offered his arm.

"Very true, Dutch, very true," she agreed. Taking hold of his arm, Susan looked around. "Perhaps there's some secret to the city that we've yet to unlock."

"If there is a secret to be had, between the two of us, I'm sure we will find out what it is," Dutch replied. Arm in arm, Dutch led her a ways off of the side walk, up some stairs, and then shortly thereafter, into the tailor's shop.

Dutch hid it well, but he was impressed. The store was completely furnished with high end clothing and fabrics, mannequins, and such. Everything about that place from the floor to the walls screamed high class to him. Honestly, Dutch felt underdressed, but he didn't let that deter him.

Susan was impressed, and hid it in no way --not that she could, if she wanted to.

What caught her eye was not the rich interior, but rather the displays. Such wonderful dresses. Part of her thought they didn't exist, having only read of them.

Almost immediately, Dutch slipped from Susan grasp to interface with the shop owner. He set to work spinning a yarn about how he was here, in the city, on business and that he would be purchasing another six or so sets of clothing during his stay and that if he liked what he saw that he would recommend this shop to his many, many colleagues. The tailor seemed to buy his BS. 

As Susan browsed, Dutch leaned in close to the man and whispered a bunch of nonsense about it being his and his wife's anniversary in a few days and so on...and so on...

Moving from one dress to the next, she caught a few words of Dutch's tall tale. It sounded both believable, and like utter horse shit. Why would such a handsome man be married to a horrid wench such as herself?

Her eyes landed on two women walking past the store, and the sight of them in their beauty and city clothes only reinforced the fact that she doesn't belong here--and she certainly doesn't belong with a man like him.

The window's reflection reminded Susan of the nest on her head; of its white streaks, which reminded her of the wrinkles that reside around her eyes and the scar that reside on her cheek..

The tips of her fingers lightly trailed along the cut...

_She begged him to let her go. Promised not to run. But he didn't believe her. She needed to be reminded what would happen if she flees, and words weren't working anymore._

_"You're nothing but a pretty face.." He growled, knife digging into the soft skin of her cheek. "And now.." He grunted and turned the steel's direction. "You're not even that."_

_The man pulled away--_

"My dear," Dutch purred as he walked up behind Susan. "Have you found what you were looking--"

As Dutch neared, he observed how unnaturally rigid Susan was; her hands trembled and her expression was something of pain or grief or...

Hesitantly at first, Dutch placed a firm hand on her shoulder and moved up next to her. The woman looked like she had seen a ghost.

"Susan," Dutch said her name gently and squeezed her shoulder.

Susan startled and flinched at his touch, instantly moving away. She'd almost begun to beg for forgiveness, forgetting the difference between memory and present, but she managed to catch herself.

"Mr. Van der Linde. Dutch. I'm sorry. Were you saying something?" Susan kept her voice as even as she could, but the slight tremble broke through here and there. Her brows furrowed and mouth twitched as she tried to recompose herself, shaking the memory from mind.

When she flinched and moved away, Dutch didn't understand. Since when had she called him by name in a manner so proper?

He thought he had done something wrong. What? He didn't know. He'd only left her alone for a few minutes. He was at a utter loss.

Once more, Dutch approached her with a pace and method similar to how he would a skittish horse. He could see she was deeply troubled and being perhaps his second oldest friend, he wanted to comfort her.

"It's all right," he soothed gently as he held his arms open beckoning her. "You are all right. We are all right."

Susan sighed heavily. She felt like a cornered animal, facing the barrel of a rifle.

But, she wasn't staring down a gun. She was looking at Dutch, her only friend.

"I'm fine, really. Why don't we...have a look around, hm?" She glanced over at the shop owner as she spoke, gesturing around at the various fabrics and clothing.

Despite her attempts to focus on other things, the memory remained in her mind. Perhaps, he'll help. He can distract her. Surely, he can.

"As you wish, miss," Dutch conceded. He didn't understand nor was he entirely convinced that she was all right, but he'd do his best.

It took him a moment, but he smiled at her and gestured for her to follow him over to a display of several dresses and other women's wear.

"You may get whatever you want," Dutch said slyly. "I have a feeling we won't be paying for any of it."

"Whatever I..." She trailed off, furrowing her brows. Between the thumping of her heart in her ears and his words, she wasn't quite sure what was happening anymore.

Susan lowered her voice, "Why do you say that? Surely we're not going to...steal..?"

Dutch huffed a little chuckle and glanced over his shoulder at the tailor, who was now speaking to someone else. "That uptight over there has graciously agreed to let me open a business tab that I _might_ pay at the end of our stay," he informed her. He couldn't help the grin growing on his face as he was rather proud of himself.

"What. A damn. Fool," she said, looking towards the man in question as she shook her head. Susan turned back to the dresses in front of them. "Well...I think I'll just get a simple shirtwaist and skirt."

"Do what you will." He wouldn't argue with her. "Actually...Susan."

Dutch paced over and touched the fabric of one of the more fancier dresses, just a step above what she normally wore--nothing too outlandish.

"Get one of these, too," Dutch suggested. "I insist."

"Okaaay... Does it come in red?" Susan wanted to question him, but she could do that later.

Dutch looked around a bit, but didn't find what he was looking for.

"I'll ask the fool," Dutch chided and paced back to the counter.

Susan followed, not wanting to be left alone with her thoughts, again.

The tailor nodded at Dutch's request. Then, he disappeared into the back of the store.

As they waited, Dutch leaned lazily on the counter and regarded Susan with a smirk. He was glad he'd invited her along.

Once she noticed the smirk on his face, Susan's expression turned to one of panic. She looked down at herself, trying to find the reason for his amusement. Had she spilt coffee on herself? Perhaps, forgotten to sew a rip in the seams?

Dutch raised a brow at her change in demeanor, but before he could say anything the man was back with a red dress in hand.

"Is this to the lady's liking?" The tailor asked as he glanced between the two of them. "If not, I've got plenty more options..."

Dutch looked to Susan. "Well?"

"Oh--" Her eyes snapped up to meet Dutch's, then to the man. "Yes, it is. Thank you."

The man nodded at Susan and placed the dress on the counter.

"May I help you with anything else, sir?" The shopkeeper seemed eager.

"Your fitting room?" Dutch asked.

The man gestured.

Dutch thanked him and paced to the men's section of the store. His was quick about finding a few sets of trousers, shirts, and vests to try on.

"Could you open that door for me?" Dutch asked Susan as his arms were full.

"Of course." Susan, who had stayed close the entire time he shopped, opened the door.

"Thank you," Dutch mumbled.

Once the door had shut behind him, he stripped out of his clothing and set to trying on the clothes he had gathered.

"Susan?" Dutch called after a few moments.

"Yes, Dutch?"

"Grab a red tie for me?"

"Of course," she responded, immediately going to find that red tie.

Once she found his request, she knocked on the door.

"Come in, please," Dutch beckoned her. "Gonna need your help."

In the fitting room, Dutch stood in black town pants and vest with a white collared shirt.

Susan entered and shut the door behind her. "You look handsome."

"Thank you." Dutch was smug by her compliment. He straightened his posture. 

"Would you mind?" He gestured to the neck of his shirt, he had already buttoned it and upturned the collar. "I've never been very good at tying these things."

"I've tried teachin' you, but it never seems to stick in your head." Susan put the tie around his neck and began tying it as Dutch lifted his chin for her.

_This_ closeness he shared with her over the years always put him at ease--soothed him even.

Usually.

"Has it ever occurred to you, Susan, that it don't stick because I enjoy this?"

"Having someone else do the work for you?" She quirked a brow and glanced up at him as she tucked the large piece into the knot.

Dutch huffed a little chuckle. "Having you do it for me," he replied.

Susan paused and let his words settle in.

Then, she returned to the tie, adjusting it until it fit snugly but not tightly. She folded his collar and smoothed it down with both hands.

"There you go. A tie was the right choice."

Dutch paid a little too much attention to the way she tightened his tie and when she smoothed down his collar. He clenched his jaw as he brought his hands up between them to touch the tie himself.

Suddenly, the proximity of the small room and her were...distracting. Dutch attributed it the fondness he felt for her and his current and forever persistent turmoil with Molly.

Despite how warm he suddenly felt, Dutch held her gaze.

"There ain't too many folks I trust lately," Dutch admitted as he dropped his hands to his sides. "I'm glad to know I can always count on you."

"I hope you trust me. Only known each other for about twenty years." She chuckled, ignoring the blush in her cheeks. "I'll...let you get back to trying things on." Susan turned and walked out, going to sit in one of the chairs by the door.

After several more minutes, Dutch emerged from the fitting room in his usual attire. He glanced at Susan and then made his way to the counter.

Just as Dutch had said, the tailor let him put everything on his tab. Dutch thanked the man profusely and assured him that he would be back.

After, Dutch made his way over to Susan with a bag in either hand.

"Shall we?"

Susan stood and took hold of Dutch's arm, taking one of the bags into her free hand.

"We shall."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you that have left kudos and comments, thank you! It means the world to Apple_Bottom_Beans and I!
> 
> \- D


	4. The Bath

When they made their way back to the horses, Dutch took both bags and secured them to The Count. Then, he assisted Susan onto her horse and led the way through the crowded streets. City folk bustled about via on foot and horse drawn carriage.

When the hotel came into view, he slowed down.

"That," Dutch said pointing, "is where we'll be staying: the Grand Hotel!"

It was an impressive piece of architecture with large white pillars and gabled roofs--easily the biggest hotel he'd ever seen. Dutch wouldn't say so out loud, but it was.

"Wow..." Susan couldn't help but voice her wonder, staring up at the yellow building in front of them. Every part from the columns to the gold lettering on the roof, which proudly read 'Hotel Grand' was magnificent. And, was nothing like she'd seen before. "I see why it's named the Grand Hotel."

Dutch listened to Susan and he smiled, happy that he could make her feel something other than whatever had happened earlier at the tailor's. No matter what spooked her--it was still curious and intriguing to him.

"How about that bath?" He reminded.

"Lord, the bath... How soon can I get in?"

_A nice, hot bath._

When was the last time Susan had an actual bath? She couldn't recall. For years, she's cleaned herself with a bucket of water and a bar of soap.

"As soon as we check in," Dutch answered, while urging The Count to move a little quicker. He could hardly wait himself.

Once they reached the hotel, Dutch assisted Susan down, grabbed the bags, and handed the horses to a gentleman by the door.

Quietly, Susan gasped as they entered the building, turning around to get a full view of the lobby. She was running out of words to describe the disarming architecture of each place they've visited. And, this wasn't the fanciest of their stops. No, that would be the theater, which she caught a glimpse of as they passed to the tailor.

Once Dutch had confirmed their reservation with the front desk, obtained the key, and requested the bath--well, things started to feel a little better. His mind eased and his body relaxed a bit more as he knew what awaited him up the stairs.

"Second floor suite," Dutch told Susan as they walked up the stairs. "We'll have a bath and dinner...and then see that picture show everyone is talking about!"

"I feel like a spoiled child." Susan chuckled, holding onto his arm as they ascended the stairs.

"That makes two of us then!"

When they made it to the room, Dutch opened the door, stepped in, and set the bags on the floor.

"Huh..." He surveyed the room with hands on his hips, taking in the sight of their very fancy and decorated room.

Susan walked in behind him, noticing the one bed. Before she could begin to worry, she noticed a sofa. "I'll take the couch."

"No," Dutch said firmly as he turned to her. "You'll sleep there." He pointed to the large bed with many pillows.

"Nonsense. You take the bed. You're use to that."

"I ain't use to that." Dutch crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "Now, as a gentleman, I insist. I'll sleep on the couch."

"You ain't gonna like it," she warned. "Frankly, I'll be surprised if you sleep through the night."

Dutch made a face."That bath water ain't getting any warmer," he reminded her. "Grab a change of clothes. It's the door just across the hall..."

Quickly, Dutch selected his new black vest, white shirt, and black pants...and headed out the door.

Susan grabbed the dress he'd requested for her and followed him towards the bathing rooms.

As a courtesy, Dutch knocked and waited before he opened the door. Too many times had he walked in on...various stages and flavors of indecencies over the years. His mind was a little blown as he eyed the space.

There was a tub of steaming water on either side of the room with a partition as the only means of privacy. It took him a moment to regain his bearings. Once he did, Dutch went to one side and began undressing.

Susan, only momentarily, paused at the sight of the partition and tubs. Privacy wasn't something she was usually afforded. In fact, this was more privacy than she had in camp. She went to the other side and began removing her clothing. The most difficult part was removing her corset, which would be more trouble than it’s worth to put back on after. And, the easiest part was taking down her hair, which went all the way down to her waist, and curled at the ends.

Now completely undressed, she put one leg in.

Then the other.

And _slloowwly_ settled in.

She sunk until the water covered her chest, sighing heavily at the heat.

Dutch had paused his undressing to go through the various soaps and other toiletry items on his side of the room. He spent a few minutes smelling and wafting various kinds of soaps. Smirking at some, wrinkling his nose at others.

Once he found a bar and bottle of lavender soap, Dutch took off his trousers, but stopped short when he heard Susan's sigh; frozen to the spot.

That sound, that pleasured gasp, seemed to be reverberating in his ears. And, for no good reason, Dutch van der Linde felt uncomfortable.

Once naked as the day his was born, Dutch settled himself down into the tub. A sigh of his own, a gentle and breathy exhalation, escaped his lips as he savored the warmth of the water. His body relaxed all over.

Susan opened an eye at Dutch's sigh and turned a bright shade of red that had nothing to do with the heat of the tub. She sank further until the water was up to her chin, hiding from her embarrassment.

Should she say something? Strike a conversation? No...that would be odd.

"Hm..." Susan rested her arms on the edges of the tub as she leaned her head back and shut her eyes.

_That goddamn noise..._

Dutch really did his damndest to focus on the act of bathing. He lathered himself in that good smelling soap and scrubbed away any and all remnants of dust, sweat, and grime from the road.

When Dutch finished, he settled back into the water and decided to soak the soreness out of his body.

However, the silence was unsettling.

"Feels good, don't it?" He voiced.

Susan stumbled over her words for a moment before forming something coherent, "d-w-does what feel...feel good?"

_The water! He means the water!_

She groaned at her foolishness and pulled her arms into the water.

Dutch smirked at her fumble in words.

"The water, the city, this freedom..." Dutch let his words trail off as he closed his eyes and sighed, again.

"I suppose so.. though, city and freedom contradict." Susan grabbed the bar of soap and started scrubbing, trying to keep herself distracted from her own fluster.

"I agree with you there. I mean the freedom of being away from the noise, stress, and confines of camp..." Dutch settled further down into the water. "Even though there is different noise here and the air is something putrid, this is the first time I've been able to breathe and think in months..."

Besides her distracting sigh that was still bouncing around in his skull...

For a moment he thought of Molly and how if she were here...well, this wouldn't nearly be as peaceful.

"That freedom." She nodded. "It's amazin'... I can't remember the last time I was this relaxed.. or happy, for that matter."

Susan leaned back and started washing her hair.

The gang leader felt contented as he listened to the sincerity in Susan's voice.

"Me either," Dutch agreed and he meant it.

For the first time in a long, long time, Dutch felt weightless, and almost carefree. Like a great slab of concrete had been sitting on his chest--suffocating him for so long and it just dissolved into nothing; like the suds in his bath water--smoke on the wind--money in a gambler's pocket...

"Thank you for agreeing to come with me on this little...hiatus. I don't think I'd have as much fun on my own...without you..."

"Nonsense. I bet you'd have more fun, if anythin'." Susan rested her arms on the side of the tub and continued. "Even so, I'm glad you invited me... I've had a lot of fun in the little time we've been here."

"Disagree all you want, miss," Dutch replied with a chuckle. "I ain't taking back what I said."

Dutch made a quick event of washing and rinsing his hair and settled back in the water. He glanced at the divider between them for the first time; because of the lighting, he was afforded the opportunity to view her silhouette lazing in the tub. He smirked and thought of the drawing he had done of her in his journal...and how he still remembered each and every detail.

"You've been a good friend to me." He said instead of what he really wanted to say. He was being foolish. Certainly, he was.

"And you, to me," Susan leaned forward and grabbed the champagne from its tray, popping the top off. She filled the cup beside it and sat back, glass in hand. "I don't think I deserve such friendship."

Dutch watched as her silhouette picked up something. By the distinguished pop, he soon recognized it as champagne. Lewd thoughts and memories filled his head. He willed himself to look elsewhere...but her nude image was burned into his mind.

Then, Dutch glanced at the bottle sitting on his tray and raised a curious brow.

As she had spoke...Susan's words warmed his heart, until they didn't. He was frustrated at her.

As Dutch abruptly sat upright in his tub, still warm water noisily splashed about.

Susan turned her head towards the partition at the sound of splashing water. Only now did she realize his silhouette was visible. Does that mean her own silhouette is visible? Has he noticed?

"Don't deserve friendship--a woman like you?! Are you kidding?!" Dutch questioned in disbelief. He paused for a moment and calmed himself.

She put an arm over her chest and sunk into the tub as she listened to his words. A light blush crept up her neck at the praise.

"Oh, Susan..." Dutch sighed as be stared at her figure on the screen. "You've been nothing but loyal, faithful; keeping that goddamn camp of mine running efficiently--and keeping them girls, men, and me in line for nearly 20 years...if it ain't all of us--I don't deserve you."

Even more frustrated with himself, Dutch huffed another sigh as he popped his own bottle open and poured himself a glass of the bubbly liquid. He could only imagine her expression right now. She probably thought him a fool; professing his opinioned reassurance, naked, in the same room as her...such an intimate thought--he was thankful she couldn't hear his ludicrous ideas.

"To...friendship, good company, and this filthy goddamn city!" Dutch raised his glass high. "May we continue to discover something...good."

Susan mimicked his silhouette and raised her glass, "To friendship...and this disgusting city," she added with a chuckle.

After the reciprocated cheers and a chuckle at her comment about the city, Dutch downed his entire glass and poured another.

Once his mind calmed a bit, Dutch settled back into the water and sipped from his glass. He felt rather ridiculous right about now.

Who would ever think the notorious outlaw, Dutch van der Linde, would be sitting in a bath at the best hotel in Saint Denis, and sipping on some bubbly wine? An irrational thought about Pinkertons and the law bursting through the door as he sat idly in his tub had him smirking.

What a way to be caught with his pants literally down--er, off.

As the silent minutes continued, Susan dwelled on her thoughts.

"Can... Can you see my shadow on the partition?"

Her question pulled him from his nonsense. Dutch swallowed down the rest of the champagne already in his mouth and tried to stifle a cough in his hand.

Once again, Dutch turned his head toward her utterance and hesitated for only a moment. He kept his voice casual--as casual as he could.

"I can," he replied as he straightened his posture and lifted his arms above his head. "Can you see mine?"

"Yes--what on Earth are you doing?" She watched in confusion as he raised his arms. If the sight didn't look so ridiculous, she might have dwelled on his answer.

"Stretching," Dutch replied. As his joints popped, he expelled a satisfied groan. "What are you doing?"

That groan...it lit a fire in her gut. She had to drink another glass to calm herself. Susan kept her voice even as she leaned forward, trading the glass for the bottle.

"I don't know. You tell me." She raised the drink to her lips and waited for his response.

Tell her?

Dutch didn't even know anymore. The lines were becoming more and more blurred and skewed as _this_ went on.

A chuckle brewed deep within Dutch's chest. When it did leave him, it was a profound and thundering sound; it echoed off the walls, coming back and slapping him in his goddamn face. It took a moment for him to recover.

"You'll have to excuse me, Susan," he said with a hint of humor still in his tone. "I ain't gonna pretend to know what goes on in a woman's head--your head--her head...or otherwise..."

Dutch took another swallow from his glass and spoke casually. "Enlighten me or don't...your call..."

"I'm not sure about my own head, but I know that nothin' goes on in Miss O'Shea's head. 'Cept maybe her own image." She laughed, setting the bottle down.

Dutch tensed at Susan's mention of Molly. Then, he thought of how livid the Irishwoman would be if she could see him now. That thought had him grinning. At Susan's laugh, he relaxed and allowed himself to laugh with her. Goddamn, what fools they all were.

"You know what, Susan? Frankly, I don't give a damn what she thinks or doesn't!" Dutch sunk down deep into the water with a loud huff.

"Cheers to that." Her laughter slowly trailed off and she became aware of the lukewarm water.

With a small huff of her own, Susan got out, shuddering at the cold air. She took a towel off the table and began to dry herself.

At the sound of water sluicing off of Susan's naked body, Dutch glanced toward her side of the room. Had he not been so enthralled by her silhouette climbing out of the tub and her profile as she dried herself off; the shape of her body--well, he would have blushed.

Those sighs...those little noises...

The visual just compounded his grief. A familiar arousal twisted in his gut and made itself known as he sat up a bit straighter. Knowing she could see him just as he could see her...Dutch stayed seated in the cooling water. He didn't want to embarrass her nor make this anymore improper than it already was...but--

The now barely warm water was cooling his blood and mind.

Once his _circumstance_ was no longer a concern, Dutch cursed, stood, and grabbed a towel. He dried his hair first and then his arms.

Completely oblivious to Dutch's lingering eyes, the woman continued to dress; first her bloomers, then her corset--only, the corset's strings weren't cooperating. She tried a few more minutes to tighten it, but her struggle yielded no results.

"Uh...Dutch..?"

When Susan called, Dutch had just finished pulling up his trousers. His mouth went dry as he fumbled with the buttons of his fly.

_What could she want?_

"Yes?"

"I need... Er..." She cleared her throat. "I need a bit of help. With-with my corset..." She kept her back to the partition, too embarrassed to make eye contact should he decide to come over and help.

The usually poised criminal, didn't trust his voice. If Molly even knew that Susan had asked for such assistance, she would have his balls for sure.

Still suffering from a dry mouth and a stirring in his gut, Dutch quickly shrugged his white dress shirt over his shoulders, letting his suspenders continue to hang at the waist of his pants.

Without a word and only a moment of hesitation, Dutch crossed to _her_ side of the room, buttoning his shirt most of the way up as he did so.

When Dutch finally did look up to see Susan standing in her delicates, a breath caught in his chest. Thankfully, she was facing away from him...but she did have ears. He let go of his shaky breath as his eyes ran down to the exposed skin of her lower legs.

Dutch assured himself that this was a normal reaction. And, further rationalized it as he and Molly hadn't been _together_ in over a month. That was all. That was it.

And yet, Dutch couldn't shake the thoughts anymore. With a bit of the champagne swimming in his brain--well, that didn't make this any easier, but he approached her and rested his hands on the lowest part of the corset.

"What seems to be the problem, miss?" Dutch words were low and smoky.

She could hear his approach, his shaky breathing, his voice...she could feel the flame in her gut reignite as her face flushed crimson.

It was a moment before she could find her voice, which trembled ever so slightly, "I'm havin' trouble tightenin' it."

"Well, allow me." Dutch's voice remained thick and throaty.

Confidently and deftly, Dutch's fingers pulled at the laces as necessary, cinching the corset as requested. Well versed in such things, it took him just a couple minutes to do as she asked.

Although finished, he hadn't moved.

"Need anything else, miss?" He kept throwing that 'miss' in there as he spoke, hoping it would make the whole thing a bit more proper, but when it left his mouth, it sounded anything other than such.

"You--" The word had left her mouth before she could stop herself.

"I mean--"She inhaled deeply and moved to her clothes, which sat neatly stacked besides the towels.

Maybe he hadn't heard her?

As she went about her way, Dutch's eyes followed her. In his intrigue, he hadn't moved.

"I what?" Dutch asked her as he pulled his suspenders up and over his shoulders with two distinct snaps.

"Nothing. Nothing.."Susan shook her head, slipping ino the skirt. Her gaze jumped to Dutch as his suspenders snapped.

When Susan looked at him, Dutch was tempted to not let it go. He really was quite curious with what she was going to say, but again, her comfort was more important than his curiosity. Instead, Dutch ran a hand through his unkempt curly hair as she continued to dress. He felt strange, out of place, and like he had done something wrong.

"Want me to go?" Dutch asked her as he gestured to the partition. He'd give her back that privacy if she said.

"Nothing you ain't seen before," Susan shrugged, nonchalantly, and pulled on the blouse, tucking it into her skirt. She watched his movements in the mirror, eyes lingering on his open collar and messy hair.

At the truth in her words, Dutch eased so slight but then tensed as his mind wandered back to their times together in their youth.

Abruptly, Dutch went to his side and fixed his hair. Then and because of her previous words and his unwillingness to be alone, he picked up the remainder of his clothing and headed back to her side. He pulled up a second chair near her and proceeded to put on his socks and boots.

Susan tightened her collar and pulled the coat on. She fixed her hair into a neat bun as she spoke. "You said dinner was next? Where at?"

"The balcony," Dutch replied as he stood and buttoned up his black vest. "Just outside of _our_ room."

Once finished with his vest, Dutch glanced at his gold pocket watch."Should be ready in...nearly twenty minutes," Dutch informed her as he lifted his collar to finish buttoning up his dress shirt.

"If you would be so kind, miss," Dutch said, velvety smooth as he held out his red tie.

"Of course." She moved in front of him, grabbing the tie. She paused. "Weren't this already tied?"

"Details...details..." Dutch smiled at her and the closeness.

"You don't fool me one bit, Dutch." She shook her head with a small laugh and laid the tie around his neck, occasionally looking up to meet his eyes as she worked.

"You don't fool me either, Susan," Dutch teased as he was certain to meet her eyes each and every time she looked at him. Truth be told, he had no idea what was going on in her head.

"Oh, but I do. I do fool you." She chuckled, pulling the knot until it fit snugly. Once again, she folded and smoothed down his collar.

But this time, her hands lingered on his chest.

"There you go."

Dutch didn't thank her or move away. He was powerless as her touch had him rooted to the spot. Instead, he held Susan's gaze, searching for clarity in those radiant sea-green eyes of hers. The fondness and familiarity of a long friendship shone back at him.

"You don't fool me, my dear," Dutch challenged her gently. "Ask me how I know."

Susan quirked a brow, a playful smirk making its way across her face. "How do you know?"

"Oh, I know all about you, Susan Grimshaw," Dutch told her, his tone caught between a flirtatious tease and a soothing vibrato. “I see you clearly, if not clearer than you see me...”

Once more, Dutch halted so that he could peer into the windows of Susan's soul. Her hold on him felt both cumbersome and delicate; fire and ice.

“Tell me that your pulse isn’t ticking like an over wound clock,” Dutch challenged her with a smug smirk. He was the seeker and he fancied what he had found.

“Hell, Susan, you’re practically undressing me with those stunning eyes of yours.”

Panic set into Susan's face as she took a large step back, stammering, "I-I-I-I don't-I'm not quite...quite sure what you're talking about." She clasped her hands behind her back and shifted her gaze to the ground.

Her rapid heartbeat hadn't been known to her until he pointed it out. How was he able to tell? From her hands? Why call her out on it? And with such boldness!

Is he flirting? Surely not. He was still with Miss O'Shea.

"You ain't a good liar," Dutch accused as he took a large step forward, crowding Susan's space. "However, on the off chance I'm wrong, tell me, and I won't say another word."

"What if..." She took a deep breath. "What if you're right? What then?" Her eyes briefly moved to meet his.

"Well, Miss Grimshaw," Dutch said lowly as he held her gaze. "That is entirely up to you."

"Oh no, Mr. Van der Linde. It's up to you. After all, you're the accuser." All traces of nervousness left her voice, but remained in her expression.

"If it's up to me..." Dutch glanced at his pocket watch and snapped it closed. "It's time for dinner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!


End file.
